Sonnet XXVI

In this very temple I wish to cleanse

My soul, my cries, the agonies of life.
But harrowing sorrows too oft I sense;
Hurrying growth, exchanging peace with strife!
What offerings of joy have but a man
For a temple holy and full of grace?
Dare I a mortal soul to lend a hand
For one so blest, so beautiful a face?
Save faith, my boast is but an empty lie;
So pray, I pray, she may but joy receive.
For oft those streams of tears I ask her why:
'Rewards of life in years to come, don't grieve.'
Such saintly words exceed her earthly host,
Deserving praise of all great poets most!